She gave one last approving look and went inside to shower, change, and apply fresh makeup. It didn’t upset her that there were dark circles under her eyes. It was right for her to look tired, worried. Next, she cleaned the house. Then she began phoning friends.
“Have you seen Elton?” she asked them. “I’m so worried. He said he was going for a walk, to think. In the mood he was in I thought he needed to be alone. But he’s been gone much too long.”
Finally she called the police and a detective came to the house. She told him the same thing, how depressed her husband had been about being unemployed.
“Mrs. Pringle,” he said evenly, “I have to tell you. Sooner or later you’ll hear it on the news. There was a suicide off the bridge — a woman reported it last night. He was a large man, she said.”
Hysterics came easy. She was so tired, worried that she’d make a slip. “Oh, no! The Hestons — I remember when we were on their boat. He kept staring at the river. It wasn’t like him at all.”
The detective was soothing and tried to reassure her, but she could see from the look in his eyes that he thought Elton was the man who’d gone off the bridge.
The woman who had witnessed the man jump from the bridge was urged to come forth by the news media — but, of course, people hesitate to become involved. After a few weeks of investigation, Elton Pringle went into the police records as “missing — probable suicide.”
By early fall Doris had settled into a secure routine, comforted by her friends, enjoying her freedom. The aster bed was blooming in riotous color. Enough time had elapsed that she decided on a shopping spree for some winter clothes. She wanted to go to the jeweler as well — the diamond in her wedding ring was loose.
A man named John Rupert had been their jeweler for years. He had an elegant and dignified shop in the heart of downtown. Doris had always admired his style. He was attractive, slender, silver-haired, and flawlessly tailored.
“Mrs. Pringle,” he greeted her warmly. “It’s so nice to see you. I was very sorry to read of your misfortune. Your husband was a fine man.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rupert.” Doris looked down for a moment and then smiled bravely back up at him. “I’m here about my ring. The diamond seems to be loose.”
“We’ll certainly fix that. Can you leave it with us for a day or two?”
“Of course.”
“By the way, hasn’t it been some time since we’ve appraised your good jewelry for insurance purposes?”
“I–I don’t know. Elton always took care of that.”
“Forgive me. I’ve upset you. Yes, he spoke about it last time he was in. It would be wise, you know.”
“You’re right.” She sighed. “It’s time I learn to do these things myself.” She hesitated. “But I wouldn’t feel safe bringing my most valuable pieces here alone.”
“Of course, that’s understandable,” Mr. Rupert said and suggested he could come by the house to do the appraisal. He was a widower and now that she was alone too something seemed to click between them. Perhaps it was her imagination, Doris told herself, but she felt a thrill, the long-dormant emotion of a mutual attraction.
He was very businesslike when he arrived on his professional visit. She watched his precise movements and his neat handwriting as he appraised and listed each piece. She served him coffee and a torte and he didn’t drop a crumb. In fact, he insisted on assisting her with the dishes.
“You have a lovely home here,” he remarked. “Were I to examine it with my jeweler’s glass I daresay I wouldn’t find a speck of dust.”
“My friends chide me,” she murmured, “but order seems to be a passion with me.”
“You remind me very much of my late wife. I was fortunate to have her as long as I did,” he said wistfully.
To cover her pleasure and embarrassment, she wiped her soapy hands. “Come out and see my garden.”
He stood on the patio and surveyed it. “My dear!” he said. “It’s a miniature paradise.”
She was ecstatic. For a man as meticulous as Mr. Rupert to enthuse over the garden raised her spirits to a level she had never known. “Oh, thank you,” she said. “Please, won’t you come visit again? Have dinner with me here on the patio and have a nice long talk.”
“Yes — Doris — I’d like very much to do that. Don’t think me forward, but I know what it is to be lonely. And I think we have much in common.”
She invited him to come early, when the last sunlight fell over the garden in a cascade of golden light. The house was immaculate, her hair and makeup perfect, the waiting dinner exquisite. She wore her turquoise caftan to highlight her hazel eyes and dark hair. He appeared promptly in a beige flannel suit, a bottle of wine in hand.
He too preferred martinis and he mixed them expertly. They sat on the patio and, as two people who have just discovered each other do, they exchanged likes and dislikes.
“I share your appreciation of order, Doris, even in my leisure time. Crossword puzzles, for example. And mysteries — they’re my passion! Each clue is like a jewel. You keep rearranging them in the setting until a pattern emerges.”
“Oh, yes,” she enthused. “I know what you mean. My garden affects me the same way — planting the seeds and seeing them bloom into the design I’ve envisioned.”
“I’d like to interest you in mysteries. You’d love Miss Marple, the way she collects odd little bits of information and observation and weaves them into a solution.”
Doris really didn’t like to read. She had enough to keep her occupied, and when she went to bed at night she collapsed into a short but sound sleep. But she wanted to please him. “She sounds like someone I’d enjoy,” she lied.
The rich orange sun had settled on the aster bed and turned the flowers various shades of bronze.
“Look,” John drew her attention to them. “They’re magnificent!” He took her hand and they walked over to the flower bed.
Standing there, he put a tentative arm around her waist and she moved closer. There wasn’t a thought in her head about Elton until they saw it glinting in the sun.
“My word!” John said. “What’s this?” He stooped over and pulled the gold circle free of the foliage growing around it.
Doris froze. She stared at the ring he held in the palm of his hand.
The import of what had happened combined with what she knew forced her scattered thoughts together into an explanation. She covered her face with trembling hands. “Oh, no! Why now — after all this time?”
“What do you mean?” John regarded her intently.
“Just before Elton disappeared he helped me dig up this bed. He was on his hands and knees, poor dear, breaking up the clods, and—” she sobbed “—and he lost his wedding ring.”
“I see,” he said.
“Do you suppose it was some kind of omen?” She tried to enhance the sense of tragedy.
“Perhaps.” He dropped the ring in his pocket. “Shall we go back inside?”
Silently, he mixed her a martini and handed it to her. “I’m going to leave now,” he told her. “In view of what’s happened, I think I should.”
He seemed strangely detached, cool. But there was no possible way he could suspect the truth, she reasoned. Finding his wedding ring had probably just reminded him that, missing or not, Elton still held legal claim on her, at least for a time. John was very proper. A thing like that would upset him.
“Yes. Of course,” she agreed. “It has put a damper on the evening, hasn’t it?”
“I’m afraid it has. I’ll let myself out. Stay here and finish your drink.” He looked at her for a long moment and left.